We Are All on Trial with Jesus: And We Must Take a Stand (An Excerpt from a Sermon I gave years at Sing Sing Prison, and at Rye Presbyterian Church)

In this age where one sensational trial replaces another, where we greedily consume the latest lurid details in the Lorena Bobbitt trial, the abused woman who took a pound of flesh from her husband, John Wayne Bobbitt, or the trial of the moment, where we await a verdict in the Menendez case, the two brothers on the West Coast who out of the love of money killed their wealthy parents, where we have had the Rodney King Beating trials, parts I and II, almost like a bad movie and its better sequel, where we might have Crown Heights Part II, where the Black Brooklyn youth acquitted of killing a Hasidic Jew might face the same charges in federal court because of political pressure from the Jewish community, who believe that justice wasn’t done, where someplace across this great nation, at this very moment, a trial is going on, I wonder, who is on trial, the defendants or the viewing audience?  I submit to you that we are all on trial, whether we are watching or being watched, whether we are judging or being judged.

Now, I want to talk about the trial of Jesus.  It wasn’t much of a trial, as we know trials today.  And then again, the trial is familiar: Jesus is railroaded by a criminal justice system where the cards are heavily stacked against him, where many charges are brought against him, where the prosecution is more concerned with a conviction than with justice.  The only thing we can say for the entire proceeding, is that it was swift, something most people charged with crimes want, waiting for their day in court months if not years.

If we read the transcripts of Jesus’ trial, what’s recorded in the Gospels, we don’t see much evidence.  It just goes to show you how very little evidence was and is needed to convict a person of a capital crime.  Remember what Sol Wachtler, the former Chief Judge of our highest State court, said a few years back before he was arrested and imprisoned for crimes: a prosecutor could get a ham sandwich indicted by the grand jury.  And I would add have it tried and convicted of whatever charge it was indicted for.  The same thing seems to be the case in Jesus’ time.  First, the charges against Jesus are vague.  We can’t help but wonder what exactly Jesus has been charged with.  So we read the “transcripts” carefully.  We are told that many witnesses come forward, but their testimony is false.  It’s not even recorded, probably struck from the record, or not recorded for a reason….  One can’t help but think and believe that there’s a conspiracy, from the judge down to the court reporter, to deny due process of law, fundamental fairness, that is, justice, whether or not one is guilty or innocent.  It may be the same thing in Jesus’ case.  We may not have crucial testimony because someone said not to record it.

Back to Jesus’ trial.  Two witnesses come forward, and there is some corroboration between their stories.  (Note that under Jewish law, at least two people had to testify against an accused.  This decreased the likelihood of false testimony being offered.  On the other hand, under our law, we can be convicted on the testimony of one person, which increases the likelihood of false testimony being offered by an interested or aggrieved party.)  These two witnesses at Jesus’ trial say that Jesus said something about destroying the temple and rebuilding it.  This is the only evidence against Jesus.  Even though Jesus is being framed from the very beginning, this is not enough evidence to convict him of a crime.  What crime has been proven?

Now, you know how there’s a dramatic moment in movie trials?  Well, there’s a dramatic moment at the trial of Jesus.  Up until this point the witnesses haven’t provided any evidence to convict Jesus of anything.  All Jesus has to do is remain silent.  He doesn’t have a public defender to tell him this.  I mean, this is a case that even the worst public defender can win, hands down.  If Jesus remains silent he walks out of that courtroom scot-free.  It’s almost too good to be true, too good to believe, that a defendant accused of crimes in a criminal justice system where the cards are heavily stacked against him will win.  The high priest prosecutor knows this.  He is going to lose the case.  He is desperate.  There is no surprise witness to spring at the court at the last moment to bolster his case.  He has no more witnesses.  All he can do is hope that Jesus takes the stand.

Jesus, against the advice even the worst public defender would provide, takes the stand.  The high priest prosecutor puts Jesus under oath.  Envision it, Jesus taking the stand.  Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you?…

There’s no lengthy cross-examination, nothing leading up to the moment of truth.  The high priest prosecutor goes straight for the jugular.  Are you the Messiah? he asks.  Jesus answers in a roundabout way: “You have said so.”  The high priest prosecutor jumps at his chance.  Jesus’ answer becomes a yes.  This is how the system works.  “Blasphemy!” he shouts.  He knows that this “confession” is all he needs.  Stop the trial!  “Why do we still need witnesses?” he asks.  Render a verdict, not now, but right now.  Remember how I mentioned the power of the prosecutor to indict as well as try people?  Jesus is found guilty.  We know the rest of the story.  Jesus is given the death penalty, the cruel sanction of death on the cross, no appeal forthcoming.  He’ll be dead in a matter of hours.  Now that’s what I call swift justice!  If some of our lawmakers had their way, executions would be just as swift today.  Let us be thankful that absolutely everything doesn’t go their way.  Many more innocent people would be executed.  It’s a travesty that many innocent people spend years on death row as it is before they’re vindicated.  It’s a tragedy that many are never vindicated and spend years on death row before they’re executed.

Doesn’t this trial story sound familiar?  Jesus is arrested, tried, convicted, sentenced and condemned.  Sounds familiar yet?  Listen to the Word of God.  Jesus is betrayed by a co-defendant, Judas.  He sells Jesus out for thirty pieces of silver.  Sounds familiar?  Jesus suffers “police brutality”: “One of the police standing nearby struck Jesus on the face” (Jn 18:22).  Sounds familiar?  Peter, the person who says that he will stand with Jesus to the very end disavows any knowledge of him: “I do not know this man.”  Peter says that twice after stating that he didn’t even know what the witnesses were talking about when they identified him as one of Jesus’ partners.  Sounds familiar?  Jesus stands before justice alone, without a public defender.   Sounds familiar?  Jesus is ridiculed, made mockery of, abused: “They spat on him and took the reed and struck him on the head.”  Sounds familiar?  If there was television in those days, you can bet Hard Copy or Inside Edition would have covered this sensational trial.  The trial of the century!  You can bet they would have made sport of Jesus in the way that the tabloid press does.  The King of the Jews wearing a crown of thorns!  They wouldn’t have known that this trial would change the course of history!

I’ve been focusing on the trial of Jesus, but he’s not the only one on trial.  Judas is on trial.  He’s guilty as sin, commits suicide for his crime of betrayal.  Peter is on trial.  He’s guilty as sin.  He wept for his denial of and abandonment of Jesus.  Caiaphas, the high priest prosecutor, is on trial.  He’s guilty as sin.  From the very beginning he was looking for false testimony to try Jesus, whom he knew to be innocent of any crime.  Pontus Pilate is on trial.  He’s guilty as sin.  Against his better judgment, he let an innocent man be crucified.  All of the people who shout, “Let Jesus be crucified!” are on trial.  The soldiers who make sport of Jesus are on trial.  Who in this whole bunch is without guilt?  They have all judged Jesus.  Who in this room hasn’t been judged harshly or unfairly?  Who hasn’t judged?  Who hasn’t judged harshly or unfairly?  Remember, we are told: “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.  For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get” (Mt 8:1).  And we know, what goes around comes around.  Don’t we know that?  That’s the hand of providence at work.

We also know that the death of Jesus isn’t the end of the story.  In fact, it’s the very beginning, the very beginning of the story of Christianity, which springs from the criminal justice system of Jesus’ day, which led to the cross….

Jesus is on the cross.  It’s a dark day for humanity.  It’s a dark day for justice.  It is recorded, “from noon on, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon” (Mt 27:45).  Haven’t we all had one of those dark days?  Haven’t we?  It’s a day of utter despair.  It’s a day where we are ready to give up hope….  Even Jesus experiences this dark day where his faith is put to the test.  Jesus seems to give up hope around 3 o’clock, and Matthew is bold enough to tell us his last words: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me” (Mt 27:46)?  My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Jesus dies on the cross.  He is laid in a tomb.  But that’s not the end of the story.  Now the cover-up begins.  Once people have been condemned by the criminal justice system, the people responsible for convictions, in the name of the State, do everything within their power to have people executed or kept imprisoned.  Any form of vindication becomes nearly impossible; likewise redemption, because it would undermine the system.  Check out what the chief priest and the Pharisees, the people chiefly responsible for Jesus’ crucifixion, do in order to uphold what they’ve done.  They go before Pilate.  They say, “Sir, we remember what that imposter said while he was still alive, ‘After three days I will rise again.’  Therefore command the tomb to be made secure until the third day; otherwise his disciples may go and steal him away, and tell the people, ‘he has been raised from the dead,’ and the last deception would be worse than the first.”  The last deception would be worse than the first.

If Jesus was an imposter, why were the chief priests and the Pharisees so concerned?  Who’s practicing deception here?

Soldiers are sent to guard and secure Jesus’ tomb.  But that’s not the end of the story.  Jesus appealed His case to a higher authority.  If we depended on the authority or goodwill of man, we would be arrested, tried, convicted and condemned so swiftly we wouldn’t know what happened.  Our cases would go unreported.  There must be a higher authority we can appeal to.  Jesus appealed his case to a higher authority.  His God hadn’t forsaken him!  There is the resurrection.  Jesus rises.  He rises.

Now, we can appeal our cases to a higher authority, and rise from the depths of despair to a glorious daybreak, a day of new beginnings.  We can rise.

 * This sermon is based on Matthew 26:57-68.

 

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Andrew the Ambitious

Nearly two months ago, when Andrew Cuomo, New York’s Governor, announced that he would use public money to finance higher education in prison, in some quarters people thought that the state was finally wising up and was going to be “smart on crime” as opposed to “tough.”  With opposition, mostly from the Republican-controlled State Senate and its constituents, people in upstate New York who, for the most part, benefit from prisons, Cuomo backed down and said he would no longer use public money to finance higher education in prison.

 

Years ago, when his father was Governor of New York State, I dubbed him Mario the Magician for his sleight-of-hand, using money from the Urban Development Corporation (UDC), which was tasked to build affordable housing for the poor in urban areas, to build prisons in upstate rural New York.  Note that New York voters had rejected a proposition to build more prisons with public money – thus this end around the will of the voters and the use of UDC monies to build prisons.  Since his son became Governor, I have been looking for a tag to place on him.  Since he has done nothing in office to date that stands out or distinguishes him from other Governors, not even George Pataki, who was misguided but at least had a platform, I have been unable to tag him.  I mean, he has produced a couple of on time budgets, but that’s what we expect.  Even in backing down from publicly financing higher education in prison, he somehow took a stand that providing such for people in prison was the smart and the right thing.  Thus, I don’t want to say he’s ambivalent about this, only how to finance it.  He did though show courage in closing prisons we no longer needed.  Still, that was a no-brainer.  It is common knowledge that Cuomo the Second is ambitious.  Since I feel like it is time to tag him, despite the fact that nothing distinguishes him and his administration, and since I can only think of one thing, I will tag him Andrew the Ambitious.

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No Right More Basic Than the Right to Vote

In the recent U.S. Supreme Court decision on political campaign contributions, McCutcheon V. FEC, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. wrote, “There is no right in our democracy more basic than the right to participate in electing our political leaders.”

I would like to remind the Chief Judge that there are tens of thousands of people convicted of felonies, who have served their time (paid this debt to society), who work and pay taxes, who are forever banned from voting, not to mention the tens of thousands currently on parole who are working and paying taxes, who cannot vote in the states, including New York, where voting rights are automatically restored upon completion of sentence.  I need to repeat that these citizens who cannot vote are working and paying taxes.  Once upon a time this country set in motion a Revolution for this very same reason, stating that it was not right to tax someone and not allow that individual to vote – “No taxation without representation!”

“There is no right…more basic than the right to [vote]…”

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“I swear I wanna lock him up. I swear I wanna lock him up.”

The U.S. has trained its citizens well into buying into the myth that the criminal justice system, that locking people up, is a panacea for crime, and for other social ills.  Earlier today I overheard a woman talking on her cell phone using this refrain: “I swear I wanna lock him up.  I swear I wanna lock him up.”  I don’t know why she wants this individual locked up, or what he has done that might warrant being locked up.”  I do know though that oftentimes people look to the criminal justice system, to locking people up, as their first response, and not just to crime.

Working with people impacted by the criminal justice system, and knowing countless people impacted by the criminal justice system, of having been locked up, there is this recurring theme: women in intimate relationships with men who have been in prison, who are on or off parole, will use that fact against them in cases where the only “crime” that happened was he broke their heart.  I want to talk about one case in particular.

A young man spend about 20 years in prison, having been imprisoned as a teenager. He gets out, had married his childhood sweetheart while they were in prison.  Unlike most prison marriages, this was not a marriage of convenience.  They had previous history, that is, they knew each other before his imprisonment.  While he was in prison he had conjugal visits, from which they had two children.  This was a young man who truly cared about his family.  In any event, he’s released from prison.  Parole does not let him live with his wife, so he has to go live with his mother.  A couple of months pass before Parole allows him to change his residence and live with his wife and children.  Things quickly go wrong in Paradise.  Although they did everything humanly possible to be a family while he was in prison, still, they lived parallel lives.  While he was in prison, his wife raised the kids.  They were used to her parenting style.  He joins his family and immediately assumes the role of father and provider.  The oldest, a girl, a teenager, immediately has problems with his parenting style, with his restrictions, calls him a “drill sargeant.”  He is highly disciplined, in part as a result of more than two decades of imprisonment.  What he doesn’t realize is that, in his absence, the family had roles.  He couldn’t return and state his role and impose it on them.

In any event, he and his wife separates.  He becomes involved with other women.  The first knows about his criminal justice status.  He is on parole, after having spent more than two decades in prison.  He’s a good man who needs to find his way in this world after living in the world of prison.  She falls in love with him, and they have many good moments together.  About two years into their relationship, things are not as good between them.  There is another woman, but there are also things between them.  She wants to control him.  He wants to be free, despite being on parole.  One thing leads to another, that is, he breaks up with her.  She tries everything in her power to reconcile, but he has moved on with another woman.  She calls his parole officer, tells her that he hit her.  He is instructed to immediately report to the parole office to see his parole officer.  Despite the fact that he is doing well otherwise, that is, professionally, and nothing like this has come up the four years he has been on parole, his parole officer is ready to lock him up.  Who knows what was going on in his ex-girlfriend’s mind to call in Parole.  She realizes that they are going to lock him up, and that’s not what she wants.  She wants him back.  She confesses to Parole that he never hit her, that he broke up with her and broke her heart.  At this point the Field Parole Officer’s supervisor, a male, is brought in.  The ex-girlfriend is very attractive, and the Senior Parole Officer hits on her, tells her that this is a problem with many men who have been in prison, they don’t know how to treat or appreciate a good woman.  He tells her that he’s heard this story many times, and that the women have second thoughts or regrets, and recant.  She tells him that truly, her ex hasn’t hit her, only broke her heart.  Parole still wants to lock him up.  She says she would not cooperate in any shape, form or fashion in locking him up.

This individual was one of the lucky ones, in that he wasn’t locked up for a technical parole violation.  This is a serious problem with Parole.  Parole doesn’t give such men the benefit of the doubt, and women who make accusations against them know this. This all stems back to the fact that the U.S. has trained its citizens to call in law enforcement, to lock people up, even when they haven’t done anything to warrant being locked up.

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A Comparison of New York State Laws and Regulations and Slave Codes

A number of years ago, long before Michelle Alexander’s “The New Jim Crow,” while doing research for an essay entitled “From the Plantation to the Penitentiary,” I came across some striking similarities between New York Laws and Slave Codes.

From the Correction Law, Section 170, subdivision (1), one reads:

“Contracts prohibited.  The commissioner of correction shall not, nor shall any other authority whatsoever, make any contract by which the labor or time of any prisoner in any state prison, reformatory, penitentiary or jail in this state, or the product or profit of his work, shall be contracted, let, farmed out, given or sold to any person, firm, association or corporation; except that the convicts in said penal institutions may work for, and the products of their labor may be disposed of to, the state or any political division therefor or for or to any public institution owned or managed and controlled by the state, or any political division thereof.”

Slave Code, from Louisiana:

“The slave is incapable of making any kind of contract, except those which relate to his own emancipation.”

Slave Code, from Alabama:

“No master, overseer, or other person having the charge of a slave, must permit such slave to hire himself to another person, or to hire his own time, or to go at large, unless in a corporate town, by consent of the authorities thereof, evidenced by an ordinance of the corporation.”

Slave Code, from South Carolina:

“No owner, master or mistress of any slave…shall permit or suffer any of his, or her or their slaves to go and work out of their respective houses or families, without a ticket in writing under pain of forfeiting the sum of current money, for every such offence.”

From New York Standards of Inmate Behavior, 105.11:

“Religious services, speeches or addresses by inmates other than those approved by the Superintendent or designee are prohibited.”

Art. I, Section 1022 (Alabama):

“Any slave who preaches, exhorts, or harangues any assembly of slaves, or of slaves and free persons of color, without a license to preach or exhort from some religious society of the neighborhood, and in the presences of five slave-holders, must — be punished.”

From New York Standards of Inmate Behavior, 105.10:

“Unauthorized Assembly or Activity.  The unauthorized assembly of inmates in groups is prohibited.  The size of the group is determined by local policy [generally five people].”

Art. I, Section 1020 (Alabama):

“Not more than five male slaves shall assemble together at any place off the plantation, or place to which they belong, with or without passes or permits to be there, unless attended by the master or overseer of such slave, or unless such slaves are attending the public worship of God, held by white persons.”

These similarities between New York State Laws and Regulations, which are on the books today, and Slave Codes, are indeed striking.  So for those who think that we do not live in the dark shadows of slavery…

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Black Blood of Poetry

The King was dead

You joined the adults

Cried your eyes out

Didn’t know exactly why

Only that something catastrophic had happened

Something that’d set your people back fifty years

You couldn’t even go out to play

Maybe not for the next fifty years

Buildings were on fire

 

            Burn baby burn

 

It was like the Apocalypse

Like the end of time

Spoken about in church

The fire next time

 

            Burn baby burn

 

Our Black prince

Had already been assassinated

Who was next

Panthers were hunted and killed

Right on our city streets

Brothers were being sent to Nam

To fight a war that made no sense

While there was Civil Unrest

Right on our city streets

 

            Burn baby burn

 

Body bags

Were returning on planes

Along with pure heroin

Mothers aged overnight

Sobbed into folded flags

Kids shouted slogans

They didn’t understand

 

            Ungawa

            Black Power

            Destroy

            White boy

 

While Vietnam veterans

Nodded off into the night

 

            To die

            To sleep

            Perchance to dream

 

Napalm burning them in their nightmares

 

            Burn baby burn

 

Older bloods were disappearing

Later you’d learn

They’d been sent up the River

Into the heart of darkness

Their absence opened the Void

A Void so dark and so deep

Generations got lost

Some never returned

Others were still trying to return home

 

Bring the boys home

Bring them back alive

Bring the boys home

Bring them back alive

 

Black rage

White fright

 

Neon lights flashing

Flesh beckoning from street corners

Beautiful girls lost and turned out

Drug deals transacted on street corners

Three Card Monte con men

Hustling the larcenous

Even native New Yorkers

A sucker’s born every second

 

Battle lines had been drawn

But they were easy to cross

You could get lost

Between the moon and New York City

Between Brooklyn and 42nd Street

And never return home

 

Mind altering drugs

Misled you

Into believing that you were invincible

You dodged bullets

Or at least you thought so

Lived another day to tell your story

You refused to go to funerals

Faced death everyday

But wouldn’t look the Grim Reaper

In the eyes

When he/she was harmless

In a coffin

Ready to go six feet under

 

            Let the dead bury the dead

 

You’d never die

You’d never be sent up the River

The cops would never catch you

You’d learned the secrets

Of being an Invisible Man

You disappeared into apartments

While they chased phantoms on roofs

In the streets

You’d grab a girl’s hand

Tell her the truth

That you were a wanted man

And she’d want to save you

She’d guide you right by the police

Right before their very eyes

In plain view

As they say

And you laughed

Because every day you cheated death

You lived another day to tell your story

As long as no one could see you

You were free

Everything was permitted

Just don’t get caught

 

Even in the asphalt jungle

There were rules

Silence was golden

Everything said

Could be used against you

Even your silence

Because no story is ever left untold

Cops are the best storytellers

Just give them something to work with

A snitch

A rat

A codefendant to turn state’s evidence

A perjurer

Thank God there was no electric chair

Prosecutors have no qualms

About sending innocent men to their death

As long as they get their convictions

Building blocks for their careers

It’s strange

But the guilty go free

While the innocent become disillusioned

Sometimes they escape state-sponsored death

 

You’ve trod the same path

As the bloods before you

Was sent up the River

Despite your belief to the contrary

Found all the older bloods

You thought were missing in action

One good thing

Since they’d paved the way

And because they were responsible

For the road you took

Because they didn’t leave a road map

And you fell into the Void

Belatedly they taught you

All you didn’t know

Almost everything you needed to know

To live

To be

To become a part of history

History was living

 

You were reading history

You were reading

Malcolm X’s autobiography

While his killer was a few cells away

It was strange

You hadn’t come into consciousness

When the Black Prince was assassinated

But you met his assassin

Looked him in the eyes

Didn’t see the Grim Reaper

But a disillusioned old man

Praying to the same god

In a different way

You watched him

Wondered why he’d really killed

Perhaps he even wondered why

 

You played prison football

With panthers

Who’d been set up by the FBI

Later you’d’ see them

Vindicated and rich

On talk shows

Traveling to Africa

Sometimes there is justice

Belatedly

After a terrible price has been paid

 

But your journey had just begun

You are a Black Boy

A Native Son

Living Sonny’s Blues

You Cry I am

A Man-child in the Promised Land

You came down Mean streets

Aware

 

You traveled

Met people with invaluable lessons to teach

You’re inspired

By that trinity of freedom fighters

Nat Turner

Gabriel Prosser

And Denmark Vesey

 

You become wise enough to know

That you can’t live in the past

Only learn from it

Even though it could be conjured up twenty years later

Be used against you

But it was unchanging

This you know

And you must move on

Even if others

Would hogtie you to the past

 

You do battle with demons

Not blond-haired blue-eyes devils

But your own heart of darkness

You fight to break the chains

Of your miseducation as a Negro

Of psychological chains and images

Of the new slavery

Repackaged as Corrections

 

You read the dictionary

From A to Z

Emulating Malcolm X

Read the Bible

From Genesis to Revelation

Looking for secrets

You think of the dead King

And those 8th century B.C. prophets he admired

Of his assassination

On a Southern terrace

Of your tears

Of not being able to go out and play

Of rioting in the streets

Of dancing in the streets

Of the Apocalypse

The fire next time

 

            Burn baby burn

 

More than thirty years later

The ruins remain

War-ravaged urban areas forsaken

You wonder if there are new beginnings

If you’ll emerge from the darkness

Even recognize the light

 

You remember when the lights went out

 

Where were you

When the lights went out

In New York City

 

You were not afraid of the dark

You were bold

And only the bold ventured out into the night

And you were as bold as they came

If you were not afraid of the darkness

There was no reason to be afraid

Of anything

 

You learned that you could create yourself

Because you’d never been formed

The Void had only touched you

Not devoured you

Who you truly are

A Black Boy

A Native Son

Living Sonny’s Blues

You Cry I am

A Man-child in the Promised Land

You came down Mean Streets

Conscious

Aware

 

Your eyes are wide open

And no one

Absolutely no one

Can tell you lies

You found yourself in the blues

Cried out when you learned

Who you are

You didn’t boast

That you were a descendant

Of Kings and Queens

Because they’d been buried a long time ago

You know that as their blood weakened

Yours was infused with strength

The strength of survivors

There may be a drop of royal blood

Coursing through your veins

It had been spilt so many times

You doubted it

Need not take refuge in it

If it was there

Because the blood that coursed through you

Is the blood of survivors

You walk in the steps of your ancestors

Your hear their voices in your head

You will walk with this consciousness

This awareness

All the days of your life

Until you take your last breath

Someone will have to close your eyes

Because you’ll keep them wide open

Until you breathe your last breath

You’ll keep your eyes wide open

Until you breathe your last breath

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Preface to my book, “Black Shadows and through the White Looking Glass”

Preamble

 From slavery to freedom.

From pre-colonialism to post-modernism.

From revolution to reactionism.

From the War for Independence

            to the Civil War

From the slave enlistment bill

            to Selective Service.

From Articles of Confederation

            to the Confederacy.

From agrarianism to technocratism.

From pre-industrialization.

            to post-industrialization

 

From George Washington

            to George Bush.

From the birth of a nation

            to a kinder, gentler nation.

From Thomas Jefferson

            to William Jefferson Clinton.

From Democratic Republicanism

            to the New Democrats.

From honest Abe

            to tricky Dick

            to Slick Willie.

From preserving the Union

            to fighting a “lawless society”

            to establishing a New Covenant.

From Radical Republicanism

            to Roosevelt’s reign

            to Reaganism.

From Reconstruction

            to public works

            to trickle-down economics.

From the Welfare State

            to a Police State.

From the Do Nothing Party

            to the Freedom Now Party.

From New Deal Democrats

            to Dixiecrats.

From the Grand Old Party

            to the Great Society

            to this dialogue on race.

From the melting pot

            to multiculturalism.

From Jim Crow

            to the Rainbow Coalition.

From Griots to the Last Poets

From Phillis Wheatley

            to Gwendolyn Brooks.

From highly imitative        

            to Pulitzer Prize-winning poetry.

From Various Subjects, Religious and Moral

            to Annie Allen.

From Zora Neale Hurston

            to Toni Morrison.

From Their Eyes Were Watching God

            to Paradise.

From folklore

            to Nobel Laureate fiction.

From Mules and Men

            to Beloved.

From Richard Wright

            to James Baldwin

            to Walter Mosley.

From Native Son

            to “Sonny’s Blues”

            to A Devil in a Blue Dress.

From the Royal Family –

Count Basie, Duke Ellington

and Nat King Cole

            to the King of Pop.

From a Lady singing the blues

            to the Funky Divas.

From the Queen of Soul

            to Queen Latifah.

From Bojangles

            to M.C. Hammer

            to the Tap Dance Kid.

From Porgy and Bess

            to Jelly’s Last Jam.

From slave songs and spirituals

            to soul.

From delta blues

            to rhythm and blues.

From New Orleans jazz

            to Brass Construction.

From ragtime

            to rock ‘n’ roll

            to rap.

The gift of story and song.

From slavery

            to sharecropping.

From pickin’ cotton

            to hoeing fields.

From the farm

            to the factory.

From grapes of wrath

            to industrial traps.

From the plantation

            to the penitentiary.

From the old slavery

            to the new slavery.

From chattel slavery

            to the convict lease system

            to the chain gang

            to prisons for profit.

 

The gift of sweat and brawn.

From Africa to America.

From chains to the cross.

From a slave religion

            to a religion of salvation.

From segregated balconies

            to the front of the pews.

From hearing the Word

            to proclaiming it.

From making a way out of no way

            to leading the way.

The gift of the spirit.

The long shadows

of black history in America,

once hidden, often denied,

now revealed.

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The King is Dead!

The King is dead!

I was 7 years young when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. Growing up in the ‘60s, what one historian called the Decisive Decade, there was death all around.

At 7, I didn’t understand the impact of King’s death, of his assassination – it is my first “political” memory. Around me, all the grown-ups were saying, “They killed another Black man!” I didn’t know who “they” were. I only knew that “they” had killed another Black man. Later I would learn that “they” had also killed a President, and his brother, and….

Later, I would write a poem, referring to these killings as “assassinations with political ramifications.” These killings would spill over into the ‘70s, and if Richard Nixon was right, for the wrong reasons, we were living in a “lawless society.”

I know as a society we have come a long way, but I also know that we have a long way to go, specifically to realize a just society.

Today, as we remember Dr. King, on this day, we should celebrate his life, what he stood for, and remember those words he wrote from the Birmingham Jail: “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” And then we need to do something.

The King is dead! Long live the King and the ideals he stood for

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Even a Black Poet is Considered Armed and Extremely Dangerous

(For Henry Dumas)

It was a time
when a president,
a presidential candidate,
a Prince of Peace,
a Black knight in shining armor,
and Black Panthers,
were gunned down.

Assassinations with political ramifications.

But who’d think
that a poet
would be gunned down too?

This Bard was described
as an incredible artist,
someone who wrote
“the most beautiful,
moving and profound poetry.”

Poetry for My People

He was armed
with brilliance,
and magnetism.

Did this make him dangerous?

In “The Waking Dream”
he had a wise woman say:
“They kills em off
as fast as we can birth em.”

Assassinations with political ramifications.

Our Black Boys.
Our Native Sons.
Our Men-Children in the Promised Land.
Our Princes of Peace.
Our Black knights.
And our Black Panthers.
Black males who cried “I am!”

This was a time
of chickens coming home to roost,
of COINTELPRO,
and conspiracies.

Guess who’s not coming to dinner?

A precursor of many more killings by cops —
“justifiable homicides,” so we are told.

“They kills em off as fast as we can birth em.”

A promising poet,
armed with brilliance,
and magnetism.

Did this make him dangerous?

An innocent Black man.
A case of “mistaken identity.”
Shot dead by a white transit cop.

“These devils are devils and sons of devils.”

Maybe his words damned him.

This was a time
of chickens coming home to roost,
of COINTELPRO
and conspiracies.

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Nelson Mandela — On Love, Commitment and Freedom

This is an excerpt from an essay I wrote a number of years ago about Nelson and Winnie Mandela:

I think we also have to break away from the bourgeois tradition of romantic love which isn’t necessarily about creating the conditions for what you call critical affirmation…. We must think of not just romantic love, but of love in general as being about people mutually meeting each other’s needs and giving and receiving critical feedback.

–bell hooks, Breaking Bread

I
…When I think of a love that epitomizes these things – commitment and freedom – I think of Winnie and Nelson Mandela. He, a freedom fighter, imprisoned for nearly three decades by the now defunct apartheid regime in South Africa. She, also a freedom fighter, his wife, his comrade, fighting for and waiting for his release those three decades. When I think of their love, specifically Winnie’s for Nelson, I know that it was a great love she had for him, that they had for each other – a love of commitment to each other, to the struggle for freedom, on a personal as well as a political level – for only a great love could have withstood the test of prison time – three decades of fighting and waiting to realize their love in a state of physical as well as political freedom.

When Nelson Mandela was finally released from prison, we wanted to see a happy ending. We wanted to see Nelson and Winnie together, happily ever after. Because we grew up on fairy tales and notions of romantic love – which are constantly reinforced by love songs, movies and romance novels – we wanted to see the personal triumph over the political. It was heartbreaking to see the political triumph over the personal. Diehard romantics probably would have preferred to see Winnie and Nelson together in exile rather than a part in a new, provisionally free South Africa with Nelson as president.

I can only speculate, but I think that during Nelson’s nearly three decades of imprisonment, Winnie’s love for him transformed from the personal to the political. I think Winnie knew this more so than Nelson. I think Nelson knew this too, but that he sustained himself on romantic notions of revolutionary love, that is, that his wife, his comrade, would be by his side until he was free because the personal and the political were inextricably linked; moreover, if separated, the personal would triumph over the political, that they would triumph together. In any event, I think that sometime during his captivity Nelson realized that if he truly loved Winnie, he had to give her her freedom. He had to tell her that the personal was over although the political would never be until a free South Africa was realized. The greatest act of love would have been giving Winnie her personal freedom while he was still imprisoned, but he did not, perhaps trying to keep the personal and the political together, which could not be. In the final analysis, once freed, Nelson chose the political over the personal – there was something politically expedient about their breakup, something that smacked of betrayal, something that perhaps made us lose faith in both romantic and revolutionary love.

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